Courtlandt knocked on the studio door.

"Come in."

He discovered Abbott, stretched out upon the lounge, idly picking at the

loose plaster in the wall.

"Hello!" said Abbott carelessly. "Help yourself to a chair."

Instead, Courtlandt walked about the room, aimlessly. He paused at the

window; he picked up a sketch and studied it at various angles; he kicked

the footstool across the floor, not with any sign of anger but with a

seriousness that would have caused Abbott to laugh, had he been looking at

his friend. He continued, however, to pluck at the plaster. He had always

hated and loved Courtlandt, alternately. He never sought to analyze this

peculiar cardiac condition. He only knew that at one time he hated the

man, and that at another he would have laid down his life for him. Perhaps

it was rather a passive jealousy which he mistook for hatred. Abbott had

never envied Courtlandt his riches; but often the sight of Courtlandt's

physical superiority, his adaptability, his knowledge of men and affairs,

the way he had of anticipating the unspoken wishes of women, his

unembarrassed gallantry, these attributes stirred the envy of which he was

always manly enough to be ashamed. Courtlandt's unexpected appearance in

Bellaggio had also created a suspicion which he could not minutely define.

The truth was, when a man loved, every other man became his enemy, not

excepting her father: the primordial instinct has survived all the

applications of veneer. So, Abbott was not at all pleased to see his

friend that morning.

At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge. "The Barone called upon me

this morning."

"Oh, he did?"

"I think you had better write him an apology."

Abbott sat up. He flung the piece of plaster violently to the floor.

"Apologize? Well, I like your nerve to come here with that kind of wabble.

Look at these lips! Man, he struck me across the mouth, and I knocked him

down."

"It was a pretty good wallop, considering that you couldn't see his face

very well in the dark. I always said that you had more spunk to the square

inch than any other chap I know. But over here, Suds, as you know, it's

different. You can't knock down an officer and get away with it. So, you

just sit down at your desk and write a little note, saying that you regret

your hastiness. I'll see that it goes through all right. Fortunately, no

one heard of the row."

"I'll see you both farther!" wrathfully. "Look at these lips, I say!"

"Before he struck you, you must have given provocation."

"Sha'n't discuss what took place. Nor will I apologize."

"That's final?"

"You have my word for it."

"Well, I'm sorry. The Barone is a decent sort. He gives you the

preference, and suggests that you select pistols, since you would be no

match for him with rapiers."




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